Chapter Twenty-Two
Five Months Ago
I’d always disliked my birthday. Every year, I’d begged my parents for a party, and every year they’d been too busy to plan one. And to be clear, the birthday parties back then were nowhere near the extravagant events of today. There were no bouncy castles. There were no petting zoos. Kids in the ’80s were lucky to get a cardboard cup of mystery orange drink and a goodie bag of McDonald’s coupons. And Ben and I hadn’t even gotten that.
It wasn’t like our parents had ignored our birthdays—we’d always received nice gifts, and my mom would usually make us our favourite meal—but not having a party had always been disappointing. As I got older, I dealt with that disappointment by telling myself I didn’t care. I stopped telling people. I stopped celebrating. I treated it like any other day.
Now that I was in my forties, getting older was something I would rather not think about anyway, so not celebrating my birthday suited me just fine. The only people who knew when it was were Ben, Kate and my parents, and they were the only ones I needed to hear from to make the day special.
So, on Monday morning, after a hearty rendition of “Happy Birthday” from Kate and Ben, and a more subdued version from my parents, I headed out the door like it was any other day.
Except this particular Monday felt a bit weird. Most of me knew that going out for dinner with Ethan on Friday hadn’t been a date, but part of me wondered what he had thought. What he had really wanted it to be. And all of me prayed he hadn’t told anyone. The last thing I wanted was to be a hot piece of gossip at a place where I was only a temporary employee, even if my term had recently been extended for another six months.
And what about Luke? A tiny, irritating voice piped up in the back of my head and I did my best to squash it. I didn’t like that I had started to think about Luke in that way. Mostly because I didn’t know what to make of it. I wasn’t one to have healthy feelings about a member of the opposite sex, and my poor, tired brain didn’t know how to handle it. “We’re just friends,” I said under my breath, but apparently not as quietly as I’d thought.
“Who’s just friends?” Ethan walked in the door and pulled off his woollen hat revealing hair that was slightly ruffled. Not enough to be messy; just enough to be sexy. This was more like it. These kinds of thoughts I could handle.
He walked over to my desk and ran his hand through his hair, checking it in the window to make sure everything was in place. It occurred to me that it must take a lot of work to look as perfect as he always did. I wondered how much time he spent getting ready. My thoughts went back to what Quinn had said about his Instagram posts.
“How much time does it take you to get ready in the morning?” I asked, knowing I was being blunt but also knowing Ethan liked to talk about himself.
“Hmm….” He rubbed the bottom of his chin, the rasp of rugged stubble underneath his fingers melting my judgment away. “Well, I get up at 4:30 a.m. to work out—”
“What the fuck, seriously? Every day?”
He spread his arms, looked down at his chest and then back at me with a look that said, “Obviously,” and then continued: “I usually work out for about an hour or so, then around twenty minutes to shower—more if I use a leave-in conditioner—about thirty minutes to get ready after that. Then I get dressed—”
“What? Sorry to keep interrupting, but you take thirty minutes to get ready before you get dressed?”
“I have a very intense skin care regimen.” He seemed bewildered that he had to say this to me. “Don’t you?”
“I mean, I use moisturizer,” I said, embarrassed for some reason. Should I have had a more intense skin care regimen?
He shook his head. “I started moisturizing when I was fourteen. We’re in our thirties Julie…well, I am anyways. We need to take care of our skin. Instagram may have filters to cover up wrinkles, but life doesn’t.” He nodded solemnly.
I unconsciously brought my hand to my face. I had been noticing more fine lines lately. Maybe I should be investing in something more expensive, I thought.
“So, all in all,” he finished, “after getting dressed and then making and drinking my protein shake and packing my cooler full of small meals and healthy snacks for the day, I’d say it takes me about three hours to get ready.” He flashed a brilliant grin.
“Three hours. Every day.” I barely got up an hour before I had to arrive at work. If it wasn’t for the thirty minutes I took to style my hair and swipe on some make-up, I could probably get away with showering the night before and starting my car from the warmth of my bed. I couldn’t imagine getting up that early. Four-thirty a.m. was usually when Old Julie was finally getting home.
“It’s worth it,” he said. “If you want to look good and stay young, you have to work at it. Most people think I’m still in my twenties.” He grinned.
I nodded. It was true, I’d thought that when I first met him.
“I mean, obviously Botox helps,” he said.
“Botox? You get Botox?”
“Of course I do. Like I said, I’m in my thirties, Julie. You’ve never gotten it before?”
Should I be getting Botox too?“I probably can’t afford it,” I said, certain that I couldn’t.
He sighed. “Julie, you need to start investing in your future face. It might be expensive, but it’s worth it.”
“Like, how expensive?” I lightly touched the skin around my eyes. I’d always been told I looked younger than my age, but lately I’d started to question it.
“I get a Botox shot, here, here and here.” He pointed to the spot between his eyebrows, his forehead and around his mouth. “Once every four months or so. That’s about $300.”
“Plus, how much do you spend on your ‘aggressive skin care regimen’?’” I air quoted.
“About $100.”
“A month?”
He nodded.
“That definitely wouldn’t fit into my current budget.”
“Like I said, it’s worth it to look good. I mean, you’re still smoking hot.” He leaned closer and squinted. “But Botox would probably shave about ten years off your face. Didn’t you use sunscreen when you were a kid?”
I opened my mouth but was too shocked to say anything. What the actual hell? I couldn’t afford to drop over $100 a month on my face. And, even if I could, did I want to?
“Let me know if you decide to get a shot or two. I know a good place.” Ethan knocked on my desk a couple of times, signalling the end of the conversation. “See ya.” He turned back suddenly. “Oh, I forgot, Quinn’s birthday is coming up in a couple months; we should plan a party or something.”
“By ‘we’ you mean ‘me,’ right?”
He laughed. “Yeah, you’re so good at that kind of stuff. Let me know if you need help.”
He walked away with a bounce in his step. As if he hadn’t just dropped the “you need Botox” bomb on my desk, ignoring the explosion, ignoring the shrapnel of self-doubt piercing holes all over my aging skin. Happy birthday to me.
“Asshole,” I said under my breath as I rubbed the spot between my eyebrows, willing the divot I knew was there to go away. “What does he know anyways?”
It had been several months since I’d been to Group and as I walked into the room, I realized how much I had missed it. I hadn’t been back since Corie had suggested I’d fallen off the wagon at Ben and Kate’s engagement party in an effort to get attention. Initially I was too angry to return; then I kept telling myself I was too busy, but now I was just ashamed about being such a jerk.
I had also let it slip to Ben that I hadn’t been for a while and the fear on his face had forced me to reconsider.
“I thought it was really helping you,” he’d said.
“It was.” I’d nodded. “But maybe I can do it myself now?” My voice unintentionally lifted. Even I didn’t believe that.
“You know,” Ben said, “I feel less anxious when I take my medication, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I should stop taking it. You know what I mean?”
I did.
“And maybe someday I will stop taking it,” he continued. “And maybe someday you will be able to do this yourself. But do you think that day is today?”
I didn’t.
So, I sucked it up, swallowed my pride, and went back to Group. Both because of Ben’s gentle nudges and also because that’s where I knew I belonged. It had taken me a while to fully admit it, but I knew Corie had been right. It was amazing what happened when I surrounded myself with healthy friends instead of drunken randoms.
“Julie!” Corie waved from the coffee and treats table, taking donuts and muffins out of a large pink box. “We’ve missed you.”
I gave her a tentative smile, trying to gauge if we were okay, trying to tell her with my eyes that I was sorry.
She smiled back and nodded almost imperceptibly and I knew I’d been forgiven.
I breathed out a sigh of relief and waved at Jess, who was already sitting in the circle of chairs. “Where’s Jenn?” I asked as I sat down beside her.
Her smile dimmed and her eyes settled in her lap. “She’s in the hospital,” she said, barely above a whisper.
My stomach sank. “What happened?”
Jess sighed and pulled a Kleenex from her sleeve. “She relapsed. Her boyfriend left her and she drowned her sorrows with a bottle of vodka. She drank so much they had to pump her stomach. Who knows where she would be now if she hadn’t finally texted me an S.O.S.” Jess balled up the Kleenex in her fist and punched her thigh. “I’m so mad at her. She was doing so well. Both of us had gotten to two years.” She looked at me. “How could she have done this? How could she have ruined all her hard work? And what if she’d died? I’d be alone. How selfish is that?” She threw up her arms and then burst into tears.
I moved my chair closer and wrapped her in my arms, letting her bury her head into my shoulder. As she had been talking, the rest of the group had quietly come in and sat down. We were all ready to be there for her. And, of course, for Jenn when she came back.
“People make mistakes,” I said as I smoothed Jess’s hair. “I’ve made plenty. And, yes, I know it seems selfish, but Jenn’s mistakes aren’t a reflection of you or your friendship. They’re only a reflection of what’s going on with her. And there are probably a lot of things she’s not even aware she’s dealing with yet.”
Jess lifted her face up and sniffed. “I know.”
“And she likely feels just as bad as you do about this. More than likely, much worse. She’ll need your support more than ever right now.”
Jess wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve and nodded. “Thanks, Julie. I know in my head that she needs me to be there for her, but my heart breaks when I think of all the time she’s wasted. She’s going to have to start back at the very beginning.”
I squeezed her hand. “Time spent learning is never wasted. As long as she learned something, a mistake is never a failure. And that’s how you can help. Help her focus on that. Because, knowing from experience, she’s going to be in a pretty low place and will definitely need some encouragement.” Good Lord, I sounded like Luke. Where was all this coming from? Since when did I care this much about other people?
I then realized the whole group was surrounding us, all of them nodding their assent and murmuring words of encouragement. I slipped away from Jess, allowing others to take my place.
I was stunned at my behaviour, shocked at the encouraging words that had come out of my mouth, but pleasantly surprised to know I might have helped someone. To know I might have made a difference.
Corie walked over and put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m glad you came back.”
I lowered my eyes and smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry about how I behaved last time I was here. I didn’t want to admit that what you were saying was probably true.” I shook my head. “You must think I’m a terrible person.”
“Of course I don’t.” She tipped her head so she could meet my eyes.
“Well, I do.”
“I know you do,” she said. “Because you’re an alcoholic.”
I nodded. “And alcoholics are terrible people.” The truth stung.
“Oh my gosh, Julie, that’s not what I meant at all.” Corie’s hand fluttered up to her chest, her eyes wide. “Alcoholics are not terrible people. But they are prone to think they are. There are numerous studies out there that show that people who struggle with addiction are much more likely to have lower self-worth; to be more self-critical; to see themselves in a negative light—especially women. I did my thesis on this actually.”
“Really?” I didn’t know what else to say. How had she gotten so deep inside my head?
“How did you see yourself in what just happened?” She gestured towards the group rallying around Jess.
I thought about it. “I don’t know. I think I was channelling a friend of mine.” I laughed. “I tried to think of what he would do. Of what he would say. And then I did that.”
“See?” Her eyebrows rose. “That’s where self-perception comes in.” She took my hands in hers. “This is what I saw: I saw how you comforted Jess, how you pulled that group together, that was all you. You did all of that by yourself. Did you believe the things you said?”
“Sure.” I nodded slowly and then with a bit more conviction. “Yes, I did believe them.”
“You’ve come a long way since you first started here,” she said, smiling. “I hope you realize that. I know it’s not going to happen overnight, but I hope you start believing those things for yourself.”
I nodded again. I hadn’t thought about it, but she was right. I had come a long way. Seven months ago, when I’d first come to Group, I hadn’t wanted to be there. But now I not only knew I needed other people in my corner, I wanted them there. I was grateful for the help and support. And, strangely, I wanted to be there for other people who were on their own journeys.
I guess at forty-five I was finally growing up. Or maybe I was finally ready to start trusting people again. Whatever it was, it felt good. And also a bit terrifying. My track record on choosing people to trust had been less than stellar. The difference now, though, was that I was going down this path with a clear head and a stronger heart; stronger because of the people I was surrounding myself with.
I couldn’t wait to tell Luke.